


Falling

by faith_girl222 (faithgirl)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Dark, Dystopia, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-21
Updated: 2004-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithgirl/pseuds/faith_girl222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he hates himself a little for kissing her back, for pressing into her like the world is going to end</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

\-- blood and come and monkeys and the world won't end. And now they have to go on, any way.

(The bench is solid beneath him; there is a drone of other zoo patrons. There is nothing unusual about this. It's always like this. But subtly, in a way he can't vocalize, things shift, and she is there, beside him.

Her hair is shorter than it was last, just brushing her throat. He can see her pulse jumping there. Ten years and still a voice in the back of her head whispers _vampire_ when she's near him.

"They'll be here soon," Faith says, and sits down next to him.

"Who." It isn't really a question. He knows her, knows how things are now, for all of them.

"The cops."

"Should I be asking why?"

"It doesn't matter. Same thing. Bothers them, me being a girl of the stake."

"You really should find another euphemism for your Calling, it makes you sound like a hooker."

"And I bet you have a lot of experience with saucy names for that profession."

"How long?"

"Twenty minutes before we hear sirens, by my guess."

"You know they're not going to put you away this time. There's no Council to protect you, and they won't forget that they saw you stab someone; this isn't Sunnydale. Vampires aren't on their list of murders to ignore."

"I know."

"Do you?" Anger is rising, and he doesn't know why.

"It's why I'm here. To say goodbye."

Angel's throat tightens, and memories of long ago swim up, times when he never thought he'd miss her if she went away, if someone killed her. His fingers, long and cold and dead, wrap around hers. They're prickly with splinters.

"Buffy always varnished her stakes . . ." Angel trails off, looks into her eyes. They're ringed with kohl, frightened, but there is no panic.

Faith is shivering, as his fingers move across her cheek. Her lips curve, and she looks away.

And then it is like a dam breaking, a passion long forgotten, left with all her other childish things, detaching from its moorings. And he hates himself a little for kissing her back, for pressing into her like the world is going to end. Faith's lips are soft, her mouth warm.

The room's dark, and there are no other people in the Monkey House. It's just them and monkeys, who have all fallen silent, stopped talking and throwing things and acting far more human than most humans will let themselves anymore.

Angel stands, and Faith slips her legs around his hips, not clad in plastic-y leather but a cotton sundress. He supposes, as he slams her against he back wall, her should ask about the clothing. It's so anti-Faith he starts to believe this is a dream.

Teeth nip his shoulder, sending pleasure spiraling down his spine to his cock, and he knows it's real. Faith is going to be the first against the wall, and he's giving her last rights, a last wish.

It feels like there should be stars and balls of fire falling, but there's just a hum of far away people and the dead silence of the Monkey House under their rapid breathing.

He pulls at the dress, and it comes away quickly, revealing the long firm lines of her tanned body. Angel's never seen her naked before, but it's better than Angelus ever imagined. A few tugs and they're skin to skin, like he hasn't been with anyone in years.

Faith's hands slide up his back, unconsciously avoiding the tattoo. Her knees come up, and he's sliding inside.

She's heaven, warm and tight and trembling with something more than pleasure: something primal. He pulls out, until only the head remains, then slams back in. There's no reason to be slow or careful. It won't matter in a few minutes, and she wouldn't appreciate it. She wants a last fuck, not a last embrace.

Faith is crying out silently, pushing off the wall against him. She has leverage now, and she uses it. She jerks her hips to the right and swings her left leg over. She's face first against the wall now, and he grips her hips tightly.

He pistoned into her, resting his face against her shoulders. Angel's hands moved around to her belly, and he can feel himself moving inside, rushing up against her g-spot then falling away. His balls hit the insides of the thighs as he pounds away.

They can hear the sirens now, whooping far away, as the cops follow her trail.

As he thursts into Faith, Angel wonders if Kate is one of them, now that she's rejoined the force.

Faith mewls, and Angel's arms wrap around her. He pulls her round, watches her perfectly round breasts bounce as he dents the wall with her ass. He'd like to think, that with the exception of one woman, there was no one else living who could withstand this, but that isn't true anymore, not after what they did all those years ago.

Faith's knees catch against his sides. She strains closer, desperate for contact, for him to break her in two, to fill her until she is no longer empty. Her head slams backward into the wall, and her can see her savoring the living _human_ sensation of stars dancing before her eyes as blood rushes to her head.

There will be footsteps in the quad outside soon, so as she racks and thrashes with her first climax, her wraps her in his sweater, gathers up her dress, and stumbles into the humid L.A. night.

It's slow at the zoo, that day, and there is no one where they emerge.

His thrusts are harder than before, pressing all the way to her cervix. Angel runs, clutching her, and that's when the dart slams into his shoulder. His knees hit grass, and it's all he can do not to drop her.

"Angel." Her voice is cracking and her eyes are wide, staring through him at the soft-stepped detective in the trench coat leveling a gun at them.

The world spins as the tranc spreads through his system. He shields her with his body, panic engulfing him, making him choke. Angel has a sudden vision of the cop shooting her, naked and wet, leaving her for someone else to find, fear and pain and betrayal and rage filling her deadening eyes.

A primal roar rips from his suddenly unblocked throat, and her thighs, thighs a thousand thousand people have desperately wanted to be between, slide away from his hips, twist themselves around his legs.

Her nails bite into his arms, and he doesn't want to let her go. Doesn't want due process and politick and bureaucracy, and knows that's one thing he won't have to endure. He remembers her as he met her, a frightened child with the weight of the world pulling her down, and thinks that no one ever really changes. It isn't fair and he doesn't want to lose her, doesn't want to admit the humans, the people they have protected for so long, will exterminate them one by one, now that they know.

Vampires are without purpose now, but he still has one, and he wants help her until she can be helped no more.

They both cry out as a second dart pierces his neck and he spills into her, and it's a wish and a promise and a covenant kept and then there's blood -- there's so much blood -- and the screech of the animals forty feet off and the world doesn't end --)

The bench is solid beneath him.

There's a blonde woman next to him, gripping her Starbucks coffee too tightly. Her knuckles are white, and her eyes are out of focus. Kate was there, and all she remembers is a call there was a fugitive on the loose and the broken cry of a dead thing whose world had begun to crack and break.

Wesley's shoulder presses against his, and Angel can't help but think he really is it; there is no one else left from his old life.

There's grass, and a horizon that slopes away. Trees and apple blossoms and Angel can't help but think she would have liked it, in her secret smile broken girl way. He remembers the year she spent at the Hyperion, after Wesley bought it back, and her room wasn't black and dark. It was blue and there were stuffed animals on the bed and capris in the closet and it was like seeing the real Faith for the first time, the one who hadn't been abused and abandoned and betrayed and forced by circumstance to erect walls so high and thick most people never even bothered looking for a door.

They're the only ones there. The others know, but they can't risk being all in one place. It would be too easy, would invalidate what Faith had died for.

The wind is soft and the stars are bright and if Angel lets his eyes slide out of focus, it's like they're falling.


End file.
